


Battered Gods

by sweethoneypetal



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Aoiha - Freeform, Based on the lore of Anne Rice's Interview with the Vampire, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Hate to Love, Horror, Jrock - Freeform, Love/Hate, M/M, Vampire AU, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-08-28 06:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8435581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweethoneypetal/pseuds/sweethoneypetal
Summary: Finally, he had found him. He no longer needed to hunt, not when he had found Him. Aoi, the perfect Companion.





	1. Prologue

“You’re a monster.” You say.

I smile. “Perhaps.”

“Your smile makes me sick.”

I smile further. “Do I truly disgust you, then?”

“Everything about you disgusts me.”

“My scent? My smile? My voice? My body? All of it?”

“All of it.”

“It disgusts me too.” I say, calmly.

“I will not empathise with you. Do not try to make me, it will not work.”

“You are cruel.”

“No, I am not. There is nothing cruel about mistreating a beast.” Your eyes speak the same cruel words to me. There is nothing but honest and true disgust in your gaze.

I simply smile. “You are an angel of mercy, hating the hated, loving only the loved.”

“The hated are hated for a reason. They bring it on themselves.” You say.

“I see. So then what do the loved do to deserve their love?” I ask.

“They are kind… and honest… and loving in return. Something you can only strive for, but never be.”

“Are you one of the loved, then? Because you speak as cruelly as one who is hated.”

You frown. “I am kind.”

“Not to me.”

“You deserve scorn, not kindness. Kindness and love die in your hands, they are useless to you.”

“You seem to know me so well.” I smile. “You will not consider any other route than hatred. Have you seen me, when I am loved? When I love?”

“You’ve never loved.”

“Ahh that is where you are wrong. The hated can love. It’s the only thing they don’t have, you know. Love.”

“How can a monster love someone?” You ask.

“Just as easily as you can love a monster.” I smile, fingers grazing your soft lips.

“I don’t love you.” You say, turning your face away. “How could I?”

“As easily as I love you.” I smile, kissing your lips.


	2. Narcissus’ First Glimpse

Paris, 1715

The young man stepped out of the coach, tossing a few coins up to the coachman. He walked up the street, with the calm assurance of a person believing themselves to be quite safe and quite certain of their path. His gray silk brocade coat suggested wealth, but it was far too plain for someone of aristocratic birth. The fourth silver button had been resewn, the corner of the left sleeve mended with similar silver thread. A near perfect imitation.

His hair peeked my interest. The dark handsome curls that were tied back by a silver ribbon seemed to match the blackness of the night sky. His eyes, as well, matched the depth of his hair colour. He gazed at the world from them and past his long eyelashes, pale skin illuminated by the moonlight. He was beautiful.

All of this I saw, in a single glance, everything unfolding before me in the time it took him to draw a breath. Once he had exhaled, I had made my decision. He was to be the one.

I stepped forward, emerging from my place in the shadows, and began following him. At first, he did not notice, only having his destination in mind. When he did, however, I felt him hesitate. He became uncertain, sensing someone, but refusing to look back. He would not tremble in fear only to discover a beggar or a prostitute. He pressed forward, shoulders straightening and back tensing. He would fear nothing, not even robbers. I smiled, reveling in his discomfort. There was nothing but adorability in the way he attempted to appear calm and strong. It made me want to move faster. So I did.

Finally, he gazed back and his face revealed his true fear, his alarm. Before he could cry out, however, I had already reached him. My arms embraced his delicate body, holding him tight, and, taking a step upward, we were off, soaring. He screamed, the sound dying in the streets below us. I covered his mouth, amused at how he tried to fight, at how he tried to push me away. The thought that he would prefer to fall to his death rather than be held by me was amusing, if not aggravating.

Clearly, he refused to believe what was happening to him, he refused to acknowledge that he was above the city, in the air, as no man had ever been before. Instead, he could only think of one thing, and that was escaping. He bit at my fingers, kicked his legs, attempted to pull my arms away from him. I laughed more. It felt as though a small sparrow was kicking up a fuss, flapping its delicate wings in despair.

I stepped down, and into my open window, carrying the little bird into its new cage. I released him, the window closing behind me.

“Who are you?” He sputtered, backing away quickly, hoping for an exit. There were none. “What do you want from me?”

I smiled. Poor thing was unnerved from the journey.

My smile made his muscles tense, pausing. Finally, he gazed at me and saw me for what I was. The moonlight did not shield me nor did the candles. Finally, he could see me and I knew exactly what he saw. He gazed at my ungodly pale skin, my empty eyes that were no more than brown orbs, the thick curls of my gilded hair that one could attempt to battle with comb and scissors, but to no avail, my naturally lacquered nails at the end of long fingers, and finally, what worried him most; my sharpened canine teeth, who revealed themselves in my smile.

“What are you-?” He gasped, attempting not to sob. “Do not come near me!” He reached for something, anything he could use as a weapon.

I laughed and my laugh shook him, his eyes widening. He pressed his back against the cool of the stone wall, not wishing to be surprised by more like me. Of that, he shan’t worry, there was only me here.

“Fiend-!” He cried out. “Release me! I have no quarrel with you, now let me go and I will forget all of this, I will not tell anyone-” He stopped, because I who had been by the window was now by his side. He blinked, fearing me. He had not seen me move, even though he had been watching me.

“Now,” I finally spoke, and my voice, like my laugh, startled him. “Do not be foolish. All I want is you.”

His mouth opened in horror and he attempted to step away from me, but my hand already gripped his arm. “You will not have me!”

“Oh?” I smiled. I held him in place, and despite his attempts to escape, my grip held him firmly in my embrace, my arms chains around him. I could feel his heart knocking against his thin ribs, letting me know his true terror. It was an enticing sound, almost as enticing as the sound of his cries as my teeth grazed the skin of his neck.

“Monster-!” He cried, watching in horror as his own blood began to spill. Then, he became silent and unable to utter a word as my teeth pierced his flesh, his blood filling my mouth. His taste was warm and sweet, and we fell together, him still locked firmly in my cold embrace.

Our hearts began beating at the same rhythm and I knew he could hear them both, that they were drums echoing in the opera house of his skull. He grew limp as I continued to drink from him, weak in my grip. And yet, he felt the same pleasure I did, his breathing shallow just like mine. I knew if he had the gift of mobility, of speech, in this moment, he would have cried out and yelled and defended himself, but even then I would have known how he truly felt. His body betrayed him, as I felt a hardened length press against my thigh. Once the pain of the first bite had dissipated, there was nothing but pleasure for the two of us.

Despite the warmth his blood gave me, despite my instinct to keep drinking from him until the little bird was all dried up, I stopped. As I pulled away, licking my lips to taste the final drops, he fell in my arms, his eyes closed and his expression one of serenity. He slept, like a child in my arms, and I gazed at him for a very long time, feeling the heat in my fingers that he had given me. He was so pretty when he slept. He did not scream or fight or cry, he merely breathed softly, his long eyelashes fluttering.

He was perfect.


	3. Echo and Narcissus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two and a half research papers later, I finally have time to write. I apologize for the delay.

He slept for two whole days. I rose once the sun vanished to watch over him and firmly bolted his door once the sun began to rise. His fragility both surprised and further enticed me. He acted so strong, so stubborn when he was awake and yet his body could not take simple blood loss. How adorable.

He awoke on the second night. His surroundings confused then scared him, arising in an unfamiliar bed and gazing round an unfamiliar room. He did not see me, as I sat in a chair in the shadow of a corner, simply watching, as was my habit. I watched as he rose from the bed, walking to the single window of his room, dismayed that it was locked but also that it was at a worrying height; it was unlikely he would survive such a fall. Not giving up just yet, he walked to the door, passing me on the way. The wood of the door was solid and quite thick, no amount of brute strength from someone as small as he would make the door topple. Of course, it was also bolted shut.

He began pacing the room, anxious and believing himself to be alone. On his third passing of the fireplace’s hearth, he noticed the tray of food I had prepared, in case he were to awaken. He saw the bread, the meat, and the abundant wine, and suddenly realized how weak and hungry he was. He began to eat with relish, hands shaking lightly from hunger.

I smiled, finally speaking. “Is it to your liking, Aoi?”

He turned to me, frightened, and stepped backward, clutching his bread to his chest, as though it would protect him from me. What an adorably naïve idea. “How do you know my name?” He asked, visibly shaken.

I smiled. “Is that really what worries you most at the moment?”

He frowned, before shaking his head. “Why am I here? What do you want from me? Why aren’t I dead?”

“Why would I let you die? That would be an abhorrent thing to do.” I answered him calmly, which only seemed to frustrate him further.

“But you are a monster-!” He cried out, stepping backwards once more, his heels stopped by the edge of the hearth, which rendered him immobile.

“I am no monster, merely a vampire.” I responded, tone remaining calm.

“Vampire…” He repeated, understanding hinting itself in his expression. He understood what I was now, however, his weariness and fear of me clearly had not left him.

“Now do you understand? It would be senseless to kill you. If I did, I would have to give up you and your blood.”

This did not comfort him, instead, horror became evident in his expression. “You are vile-! You fiend! Locking me away so you may feast upon me again and again! You disgust me! I care not what you call yourself, you are a monster-!” He cried out.

My patience wore thin. I rose from my seat and startled him, as I was soon by his side, pulling him away from the fire’s hearth and pressing him against the cool stone wall. He looked away from me, not wanting me to see how frightened he was. I could see it.

“You are a stubborn and ungrateful thing.” I told him, my face nearing his. He pressed his cheek against the wall, not wishing to gaze at me. “I am keeping you alive and safe. My only request is that you are obedient and give me your blood in return. It is a fair trade, is it not? After all,” A smile curled over my lips. “You enjoyed it very much, did you not?”

He turned his face to look at me, hatred evident. “You are vile.”

My patience returned and I merely laughed. “You did not deny it.” I told him and he scowled. “You cannot deny it.” I said, my lips pressing against his throat.

He shivered, his heart beginning to beat frantically.

My mouth opened, a tongue lightly lashing out against smooth skin.

He tensed, body pinned by mine and breathing become shallow. “I hate you.” He murmured.

“I know.” I said, teeth sinking into him.

~

As time passed, he learned to live according to the moon, as I did. He slept during the day and awoke as the sun set. He ate the food I brought to him and allowed me to drink from him when I pleased. Not because he wished me to, but because he knew that I was too strong, that there was no escape. Despite this minor complacence, he did not become grateful nor did he stay completely obedient. As time passed, his restlessness and defiance only increased. He would pace his room endlessly, demand that I let him at least leave those four walls, shout and throw objects at me. To me, his hatred filled disobedience was charming. To me, it was proof of liveliness, of willingness to continue on, to live. I became further enamoured with him.

The evenings became cooler, the beloved summer nearing its end. The Roi Soleil breathed his last and a 5 year old was placed on the throne and crowned Louis XV. At the end of mourning for the old flamboyant king and the crowning of a new one, I joined the celebrations from within my tower. I did so by unbolting Aoi’s bedroom door and allowing him into my library. He chose a book and sat himself in an arm chair, tugging his knees beneath himself, keeping himself closed and safe from me. I smiled and sat on the opposite arm chair, watching him read by the fire light. Occasionally, he would glance up from his book and see me watching him. He would scowl at me before returning to his book. It only made me smile more.

“Stop staring.” He said after catching me gazing at him for the third time.

“Why?” I asked.

His frown deepened, irritated. “It is unsettling, stop.”

“I will not.” I smiled. “You are too beautiful in the firelight, I cannot help but look at you.”

The blood spread to his cheeks. “Do not try to flatter me.”

“Why not? It seems to be working.”

He looked down to his book. “You are horrid.”

I smiled. “You are charming.”

He said nothing more.


	4. Narcissus' Pond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five exams and three research papers later, the semester finishes. And I am finally free to write.

His restlessness peaked with the introduction of my library. Although he could spend many hours reading by candlelight, I knew he wanted more, he wanted to see more. His legs were aching for activity, while his mind imagined what were once familiar scenes; Paris streets, favourite coffee houses, the faces of old friends, the view of the city from his own bedroom window. He yearned for the outdoors and what his life was once like. Although books gave him an escape, they became no longer enough. His stubborn disobedience increased along with his malaise. He made certain that I was aware of his discontent.

“There must be more to this tower than a room and a library.” He said one evening, leafing through a tasteless romance novel.

“There is.” I assured him, seated not too far from him.

“May I see it?” He asked, attempting to sound gentle.

“No.” I answered simply.

Anger shook him and he closed his book. “I have lost count of the number of days I have been here. So far, I have seen only 8 walls. Are you trying to make me go mad? Blood is not enough for you, now you desire my sanity?”

“No.” I said.

“Liar-! Fiend-!” He shouted, throwing the book he held in my direction. I moved my head slightly and the book missed me, hitting the back of the chaise longue I was seated in. “You desire me to suffer, in every possible manner, do you not? You are horrid!”

“Your suffering is the last thing I want.”

“You lie. If you did not want me to suffer, you would let me out! You would let me outside to see the sun and my home and the city!” Another book found its way against the back of my chaise.

“So to make you happy, I should let you leave this tower. Then, will you happily run away from me, in hopes of escaping my grasp?” I asked, frowning slightly.

He hesitated in answering, and to me, that was his answer.

“You will remain here, with me, until I deem it safe to do otherwise.” I said, mildly irritated by his disloyalty to me. I could wait, however, no matter how long it would take.

“Safe? You are the only threat to me in this place-!” He shouted, on the verge of throwing a third book, until I gripped his delicate wrist and stopped the motion even before it had begun. I felt him shiver, the speed at which my fingers had curled round his wrist and my arm around his waist having frightened him.

“You are correct.” I said, my chest against his warm back, my nose filling with the scent of his hair. “I am the only threat to you here. Which is why you should treat me well, lest I decide to eat you in your entirety.”

He gasped, his heart beating quickly. What a beautiful sound it was.

I lifted him into my arms and returned to my chaise longue, seating him comfortably on my lap. He did not seem comfortable despite our seating arrangement. “You disgust me.”

“Is that so?” I smiled, pressing my lips against his throat.

His body tensed further, the drumming of his heartbeat becoming louder. “It is. You are monstrous.” His lips trembled out the harsh words.

His stubbornness always prevailed despite his fear. It was simply charming. “So, you wish to see more? More of the world, more of this tower?” I asked, breathing in his scent while I listened to the flow of his blood. “Then I will allow it, but something has to change.”

He hesitated, before he answered with lingering stubbornness. “I wish for my freedom to be returned to me. Whatever it is, I will do it.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Yes. I want to leave this place.”

I smiled. “And you will leave this place. But you will do so by my side.” My teeth broke his skin, while his warm blood filled my mouth.

He gasped, then was unable to speak. The beating of our hearts aligned as the sound rang through our ears. I drank from him until warmth finally returned to my body and his eyelids grew heavy. Before he could fall into his bloodless sleep, however, I tore myself from his throat and instead tore the skin of my wrist with my teeth. I pressed my lips against the bleeding wound, bringing my own blood into my mouth, and then kissed him. I kissed him so that he tasted and drank from me, and when he clung onto me tightly, wanting more, I removed myself from the kiss and instead touched my wrist to his lips. I must have tasted addicting, since he clung on tightly to my arm and drank until I myself grew weak and had to tear my arm away from his insatiable mouth.

His eyes finally opened and he gazed at me with fear. His body trembled, a cold sweat dripping down his temples. I could practically hear his stomach churn. “What did you do…? Why do I want more?” His lips trembled, and all I could see were the red stains lingering.

“You drank from me, as I drink from you.” I smiled calmly.

“What…?” He clutched onto me, then his body, the pain spreading throughout him.

“Do not worry, little bird. Your body is dying, but you will live.”

“I do not wish to die-!”

“And I said you will not.” I said, tucking a curl behind his ear. “I am freeing you. Soon, you will be a monster, just like me.”

He screamed, and I merely smiled.


	5. Echo's Cries

Aoi died in my arms during the first snow of the season. He had clung onto me like a child, in fear and in pain. I had simply held him firmly, fingers smoothing through his hair as I spoke affectionate words to him that would normally result in words of disgust or hatred from him. Instead, he had remained silent beyond a few pathetic whimpers, and he seemed to search for comfort within my arms and kind words. Then, finally, his eyes closed and he drew his final mortal breath.

His eyelashes had fluttered in his death and I watched him as he became an immortal. His already abnormally pale skin seemed to gain a near translucent quality, his lovely blue veins lighting up his skin like lightning amongst clouds. His midnight hair thickened and curled further, his dark eyelashes lengthening and curling as well. His canines pierced his lips as they extended, his fingernails nearly scraping my arms as they seemed to also extend and gain a lacquered shimmer. Then, he opened his eyes and gazed at me. His eyes, his already beautiful eyes, had gained the depth and splendor of the finest coffees of Arabia, the brown having become a colour that not even the finest chocolates of Belgium, using the sugars of Saint-Domingue, could dare reproduce. My Aoi, with his death, had successfully managed the impossible; he had grown more beautiful.

Once his eyes had opened and he drew a breath, he began to weep. I knew why he wept and it made me smile, holding him close to my heart. He saw, what only we could, he saw every little detail that the human eye either ignored or simply could not see. He saw the candle on the side table flickering, the oranges, yellows, blues dancing and piercing his sight, the candlelight suddenly much brighter than he had ever seen it before. In the stone walls of the library he saw every mark, every crack and every scratch; the shadows upon it seemed to come to life and bring dark hues of colour to the gray rock. With his eyes, he could practically feel the both smooth and rough textures of the stone, it was as though it touched him at that very moment. All these new colours and sensations overwhelmed him. He sought solace from the sights and sounds and smells he had previously ignored and thus gazed up at my face. The tears of blood only increased at the sight of my face. Tears of fear, hatred, and awe would not cease, as a strong passion and whirlwind of emotion that he had never experienced before overtook him. His sharpened eyesight saw how beautiful I was and he sobbed. I smiled.  

“What have you done?” He cried, fingers catching his tears, horrified at the red marks he found. His eyes were not watery, but bloodied.

“I have given you your freedom, an eternity of it.” I spoke softly.

“By making me a monster-?” He suddenly quieted himself, shocked by the sound of his voice. It was far louder but also smoother then he remembered it being.

I smiled. “No monster. Simply a vampire.” I ran my fingers through his thickened curls. “Now we can leave this tower together, whenever you like, as long as it is night. The moon will not harm us, but the sun’s light will.”

His tears came to an end as he considered it. “I can go outside? Go to Paris?”

“Yes.” I smiled. “In my company, of course.”

His mood seemed to change rather quickly. A new sort of passion filled him. “I want to go out-!”

“I am not certain if that is wise. You have not eaten yet and if I were to thrust you so suddenly into the streets of Paris, I’m afraid the hunger may overtake you and you would act rashly.”

“Is that what this pain is? Hunger? It feels as though I have not eaten in a fortnight.” He asked.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” I sighed. “Yes, that is hunger. Blood is the only cure for the pain.”

“Blood-? No, I will not drink from a person, I cannot-!” He cried out.

“If you are to go out, you must be full, or you might harm innocents.” I warned him.

That quieted him down, the idea seeming to worry him.

“Now, do you wish to go out?” I asked again.

“…I do.”

~

I took him not to the city, but to the countryside just beyond the city limits. We came to a stop in an orchard, where we both caught the scent of a living man. Aoi’s body seemed to tense and I knew he could hear the beating heart, hear the blood running through his veins. “Go to him.” I said quietly from where we stood.

He attempted to resist, but the hunger pained him so, and he approached. He could see him now, an old man sat beneath a snow covered apple tree. He shivered in the night’s cold, attempting to warm himself with the small fire he had lit. His only companion was an old mutt, who lay next to his master in an attempt to exchange heat. It was too much for Aoi and he approached him further.

The old man was startled by the sudden appearance of a beautiful young man but before he could question him, the beautiful stranger was at his neck, drinking from him as I had done many a time to Aoi.

The dog arose and barked as his master stuttered and cried out. The barking was ceaseless and it annoyed me, so I approached and broke the dog’s neck. The silence was wonderful, the only thing I could hear was the pounding of two hearts. Eventually, one stuttered and began to cease, and before it could completely stop, I pulled Aoi away from his meal and said, “You must always stop before the heart does.”

Aoi gazed at me as though he had been in a daze, lips stained with blood and large eyes widened. Then, he turned to the old man, who had died, body perched against the dying apple tree. He began to weep, having loved his blood but mourning his death. He had taken a person’s life and had enjoyed doing it. I recognized that regret but I knew that with time, it would fade, as had mine.

“Come,” I told him, and brought him into my arms, so that we could leave that quiet winter orchard.

~

Before the sun rose, I lay with him in my coffin, having none just for him. I held him to my chest, and he cried his final tears.

“I hate you.” He said.

I gently played with his hair, before closing my eyes. “I love you.” I said.


	6. Narcissus in Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Year, New Semester.

The incident with the old man in the orchard did not seem to linger in Aoi’s mind. His hunger had finally been sated as well as his need for the outdoors. As soon as we awoke the following evening he demanded that we go out once more, this time to the city. I accepted his demands, on the condition that we eat before venturing far into Paris. He was still young, therefore food was an important priority. He accepted this, despite his obvious guilt, since the pain of hunger began to cloud his moral judgement. This made things easier for me, though I made no mention of that.

The Paris he had left behind had been warm and sunny, outdoor shops and markets flooded with people of all sorts, while festivals and Saints Feast Days kept the people lively and entertained. The Nobility visited the city during the week end to make calls, shop, and attend the latest operas and plays, before returning to their summer estates in the country. All the while people wore their finest and brightest colours and cloth as they stopped by pubs and coffee houses for a cold drink.

The Paris he returned to, however, was cold and dark. The streets were lined with snow that had turned a muddy brown colour, while the shops had retreated inward into the stone buildings, fires and candles blazing, attempting to entice passers-by with their light, something that so rarely lasted during the winter. Although the Nobility had retreated from their summer homes and returned to the city, they hid away their fineries in large coaches and fur coats. They still desired their operas and fine dining, especially now that Lent approached, but did not particularly enjoy the cold. The poor remained indoors, be it in pubs or in homes, while the destitute appeared even more so, many near frozen to death, others flocking to the many churches in hopes of relief.

Despite the colder, grayer appearance of the city, Aoi was absolutely overjoyed. Every sound, every sight filled him with a childlike wonder. Since his hunger had been sated moments earlier, the sight of so many people did not strike fear into his heart, instead, he gazed at every face, every article of clothing, every horse drawn coach and hissing alley cat with an intense vigour and liveliness. These sights and sounds and smells were not vile or miserable like any human might proclaim, instead, they were just that; stimulants to our strong senses. Because of all of this, Aoi smiled, fondly and excitedly. And so did I.

~

I took him to the Grand Opera houses which showcased France’s finest talents, as well as the tiny playhouses that were hardly shacks, where young men and women tumbled and twirled and played the latest, if not low brow, Italian comedy or tragedy. I made appointments with the finest tailors, insisting that they see Aoi once the sun had set, since his frail health was greatly weakened by the sun, even the weak sun of the winter days. I took him to small pubs and coffee houses and with him attended grand balls and dinners. He wanted to see it all, every side of the city. So much so that I rented us rooms in a hotel, that way he would see and hear every sight and sound in the city, even as we slept in our concealed coffin.

As for his meals, his guilt seemed to have waned with time. He did not like having to kill, but the hunger, the desire to live on, kept his remorse at bay. Mostly, he would eat those wretched souls lining the frozen alleys, the begging and the starving; he would approach them as a generous and beautiful angel of death and end their misery.

But then, a few days before Lent, a beautiful rather than wretched creature caught his attention. She was young and powdered, her face flawless, her blonde hair piled high in a lovely mass of curls and pearls. Every part of her was pink and lively, dainty and lovely. Aoi’s breath halted and he stared at her, revelling at the sight of her, imagining her taste.

I smiled and simply encouraged his sudden obsession. “Do you want her?” I asked, my words quiet amongst the buzz of the other dinner guests.

“Yes.” He said, for once unashamedly.

“Then you will have her.” I said. And I kept my word.

~

That evening, when we retired to our hotel room, he saw the gift I had prepared. There she was, on our couch, asleep and still in her blue evening gown, her glass of wine empty and clasped between her hands.

Aoi gazed at me, surprised. “How-?”

“I promised her pleasure. And you will grant it to her. She is yours.” I smiled lightly.

He gazed at me a moment longer and then to his gift. He could not resist her. Aoi approached her, gazed at her further, before all too soon pulling her body against his while his teeth pierced her throat. She startled awake and cried out, before simply submitting to his strength and her pleasure. Both moaned and soon I approached, taking hold of her thin arm and tearing the flesh. Her pleasure doubled, as we both drank her sweetness.

Finally, her heart beat its last, and we both pulled away from her skin as she died in Aoi’s arms. He placed the corpse down onto the couch, who had lost her pinkness, and yet had remained the pale beauty she had been in life. I gazed at Aoi and his bloodied and trembling lips, and then, I kissed them.

He did not leave my embrace; instead, he let the blood spread into my mouth. I relished the taste, both of his lips and of the girl’s blood. Eventually, he folded within my embrace, and I brought him to the couch where the girl lay. Just as the girl had done to him, he submitted to me, his fingers grasping for the sleeves of my coat. I kissed him as passionately as I had wished to when I first saw him, while my fingernails shredded through his fine clothes.

His skin was beautiful, his stomach flat and his hips sharp, while his thighs and behind were round and soft. I kissed, bit, touched, and clawed at every piece of him as he sat atop my thighs. “Uruha…” He murmured; a name he rarely uttered.

 “Aoi.” I whispered in response, my fingers having reached between his legs. “Do you feel the ache? Is it like hunger; painful?”

“I do.” He said, closing his eyes.

“I’ve ached for you for so long.” I confided in his skin, my lips whispering secrets to his neck.

“Let me relieve the ache.” He said, fingers spread over my chest, nails tearing at my own clothing.

“Oh, Aoi.” I closed my eyes, but only for a moment.

Once he was ready, I kept him on my lap and I penetrated him. We both moaned, his fingers curling into my bare shoulders, as I slowly began to make love to him. His body was warm from the girl’s blood and his insides caressed me, while every kiss and murmur was an invitation for more, for me to take more of him. I took all of him.

“I love you.” I said over and over as I thrust into him, while my Aoi shook and moaned, seeming far more fragile than he ever had as a human. “I love you.”

“Uruha…” He cried softly, as I held him to my breast.

“You are mine, Aoi.” I told him, my hips snapping against his. “You are my love. And you always will be.”

He sighed sweetly and I kissed him. I had spoken the truth. I loved him and I always would.


	7. Echo's Longings

Lent arrived, and Paris died along with its gods. There were no more balls or dinners or grand events, all ate and dressed plainly to demonstrate their pious mourning. Aoi’s restlessness returned, as there was suddenly far less to do and see. I attempted to alleviate his boredom with walks and visits to smaller and far more obscure shops and coffee houses. It did work, for a time, but then he began thinking of his family, of their Easter festivities and their near daily Lent visits to the church. Melancholy overtook him, as it did many people during this period of the year. Seeing him in such a state, and to think that it could last the fourty days of mourning and fasting, was unacceptable to me.

On his fourth day of mourning, I took him to a grand basilica, the irrefutably beautiful Notre-Dame de Paris. As we climbed the old steps and made our way to its tall doors, he seemed to hesitate.

“We cannot, surely...” he looked at me, then the church’s tall arches. I knew what he was thinking.

“Nothing will harm us here.” I assured him, leading him into the grand old place. We walked down the long aisle, passing wooden pews, some were completely empty, while others held pious worshippers who prayed and wept to God. Incense burned as well many candles, whose light illuminated various depictions of God-like saints and many wooden crosses, all hanging a carved and dying man. Aoi had trembled at all of these sights, expecting a priest to cry out at our arrival, expecting the worshippers to see us and call us devils, expecting the very roof of this church to fall on our heads as divine retribution for daring to step foot into this holy place. And yet, nothing happened, no violence or outcries occurred, not from the Christians nor from their God.

“God does not notice us.” I told him quietly, as we paused at an altar of candles. Dropping a coin in the silver platter, I lit one of the few not yet burning candles. Aoi watched as I added a new candle to the burning altar, before I reached out to touch the wooden cross above it. Again, nothing occurred. “If he does look, at all, we could cry and pray, touch and defile His sacred relics, and nothing would happen. Nothing ever has.” I looked to him, showing him that my fingers had not burnt or scarred, their relics could not harm us. “Man is made in His image, and we were once men. Are we not then, made in His image?”

“But we eat and kill men. Does it not anger Him?” he asked, following my lead away from the altar of candles.

“Even if it did, He does nothing. Nothing to protect or avenge men.” I said, walking arm and arm down the aisle with him. “We were made in His image and we could continue to be; we are merely stronger than His original creation.”

“Are we then, in His favour?” He asked curiously.

“If we aren’t, He has not shown otherwise. Perhaps He is not even there.” I said.

He gasped at the thought and I smiled.

“I will prove it.” I said, bringing him into hiding in a darkened corner of the basilica. “I, a monster in His image, will defile you in this Holy place. And we will watch as He does nothing.”

He gasped once more, before my lips enveloped his. We kissed, as the pious prayed and saw nothing. I thrusted into him, as the priest lit more incense, masking the smell of our bloodied sweat. He moaned, as a woman confessed her sins in the secret darkness of the confession box, her confessor listening with relish. I made love to him in the Holy Church of Notre-Dame de Paris, as the God whom it was erected for, did nothing.

~

Although he continued to quietly think of his family, our visit to the basilica seemed to have soothed him. Any lingering guilt or doubt seemed to leave him, as he understood that we, like men, were God’s children, created in His image. Rather than feast on beasts, we feasted on man, and God did not seem to mind. Still, he preferred to feed on the dying wretched and the cruel rich, remaining weary of killing innocents. This I did not criticize him for, not wanting to upset him. As long as he lived, fed, and stayed by my side, I was content.

Of course, it was not long before he found a new obsession. It was when Lent was coming to an end, and the general populace seemed relieved that Easter was approaching, everyone quite tired with these 40 days of dreariness. The sun had just set when we had begun our stroll through the less fortunate neighbourhoods of Paris. Our very presence was a spectacle for all who noticed us; two beautiful young men draped in muted fineries, the taller and fairer young man striding with a gilded walking stick. I did not mind the looks, I merely kept my head high and gaze forward. It was Aoi who allowed his gaze to wonder, and that was when he noticed her.

She was a laundress, making her final deliveries of clothing that evening. Her hair was the colour of flames and the ends curled on their own, the rest being tied into a loose chignon. Her cheeks were rosy and her lips pink; when customers opened their door to her, she smiled with all of her teeth. Once she left her customers’ doorsteps, her dress swayed along with her curved body.

Aoi had stopped to watch her, captivated. I stopped as well, turning to see what peeked his interest. When I saw her, I smiled, and said into his ear, “Take her.”

He was quick to take my advice, following her home and then watching her through the window of the third floor apartment. He watched patiently as she undressed and then untied her chignon, red hair falling down to her hips. Aoi gasped, his hunger for her beating through him, and I watched him, relishing in every reaction he gave to the lovely woman. Once she had laid down in her modest sized bed and began falling asleep, I opened the window, waiting for him to step in first. He quickly brought her into his arms, an arm around her waist and a hand gathering her red hair between his fingers. As her eyes began to open, he gazed into their dark shade of brown and then drank from her neck. The young woman gasped, but did not resist, trapped in the admiring embrace of my Aoi.

All too soon for Aoi’s liking, however, she breathed her last, and he released his teeth from her, laying down her body onto the bed. Still, he admired her corpse, fingers lightly playing with her hair. He stepped back, however, once the sheets began to rustle, a small child emerging. Aoi’s eyes widened, shocked, as the child rubbed his eyes and then looked to the red haired woman. “Maman?” He asked, attempting to shake her awake. “Maman?” He cried, the woman not moving.

Aoi gasped, horrified.

The young child suddenly noticed the two strange men and cried out. “What have you done to Maman? Maman-!” His mother did not move, the gash in her neck still bleeding.

Quickly, I stepped forward, smothering the child before he could scream any louder.

“What are you doing?” Aoi cried out, attempting to pull me away from the child. I looked to him, and saw the tears of blood trail down his face.

“He has no hope of surviving without her.” I told him, and then broke the delicate neck of the child.

Aoi screamed. “What have you done!? What have I done!?” He wept. “I have deprived a child of his mother and you have deprived that child of life-!”

“I had no choice.” I said gently, attempting to approach him and comfort him. “He would have starved in the streets.”

“You are monstrous!” He cried, pushing me away. “You saw the child, didn't you, and said nothing!?”

“Aoi.” I attempted to soothe him, reaching to stroke his cheek.

He scratched me, forcing my hand away. “You’re a monster! And now I’m a monster, just like you. Are you happy, Uruha!? Are you happy with what you’ve done to me!?” He screamed.

“Please, Aoi, I love you. Calm down, we shall discuss this elsewhere-”

“I hate you!” He screamed. “I don't ever want to see you again!” He went to the window, leaving without me.

“Aoi-”

“Do not dare follow me. I will kill you if you do.” He hissed, his cheeks stained red. Then, he was gone.

“Aoi.” I said once more to the open window, red tears falling from my own eyes.


	8. Narcissus Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, a new chapter.

I followed his instructions for three days, I neither hunted him nor attempted to follow him. Instead, I remained seated by the always blazing fire, waiting for my Aoi to return to me. Despite my patience and lingering immobility, he did not return to our hotel rooms. Even his scent had begun to slip away from the rooms, charcoal and blood had replaced his sweet scent. Still, I sat in my armchair, head bent forward and resting between my fingers, watching the red fire blaze and listening for any and all sounds.

On the fourth day of sitting, waiting, and quietly weeping, my patience came to an end. Once the sun set, I drew back the thickly embroidered curtains and stepped out of the window, my body weakened from inactivity and hunger. My feet coming in contact with the cobblestone road, I began my hunt, senses weakened and unable to smell my partner. I killed and drank from three strangers within the first hour. My senses and my physical strength reinvigorated from the killings, I began my hunt, but not for humans, this time for a vampire.

His scent was relatively easy to track, my first instinct being to travel to the more miserable neighbourhoods of Paris. There, his scent had mingled with blood, and I knew that this was where he had fed. Beggars clutched at my fine coat as I passed, but I simply cast them away, focused on following a single scent which grew stronger with every step. His scent then led me to a more favourable neighbourhood, where merchants and their middle-class families resided, each having a home with two stories and one or two servants. The scent was at its very strongest in this neighbourhood, and it led me to apartments above a fine bakery. Quickly, I made my way to the fourth story window and peered inside.

There he was, my Aoi, nude and spread out on a large bed, while a young man I could not place made love to him. I watched, jealousy flaring inside of me, as my Aoi moaned for another man. He then gazed to the window and saw me, eyes meeting mine. I held his gaze and then slipped away.

~

I soon learned, by observing him and returning to him countless evenings, that very quickly after leaving me, Aoi had found a young and married lover who was willing to pay for his own lodgings as well as gift him with spending money and jewels. The young man was the oldest son of a rather successful merchant whose company did business in Venice and Florence, and once his father died, he would inherit the family business and fortune. Despite such good fortunes, the young man did not favour his wife, preferring instead the company of men. Upon meeting Aoi, he became instantly enamoured, and was willing to pay for his mistress’s body and silence. He did still fear being caught and sentenced as a sodomite, so their arrangement suited both of their needs. Aoi’s only need was a home, and it seemed that using his body was acceptable to him, as long as it meant that he was far from me.

Jealous rage continued to burn in me and on several occasions, I considered killing his lover. However, upon further reflection, I knew that Aoi would simply find a new lover to provide for him and that killing his current lover would simply cause him temporary inconveniences. I did not wish to do that to Aoi.

Every evening, after I fed, I would go find him. I would never approach, I would simply watch. I was almost certain that he was aware of my presence, but he never made it obvious by acknowledging me. As long as I did not speak to him, he could pretend that I was not present, that it was just him and his lover, or him and his meal.

It was by watching over him that I knew he had returned to his idealized state of an angel of mercy and death. Families nor children never perished under him, only the truly wretched and dying or the villainous murderers who stole from and killed those far more miserable than themselves. No longer did he indulge in young men or women who caught his eye in the street or in the Opera house; his obsessions, as strong as they could be, he learned to ignore or simply admire the object of his desire from afar, much like what I did.

A month or two passed in such a manner, I leaving Aoi with his supervised independence, not speaking to or approaching him, simply watching over him. Perhaps, if I had not been so occupied watching him, I might have noticed earlier that I was not the only one doing just that.

~

Spring was nearing its end, the nights becoming warmer, the days lingering longer, the sun taking its time to set. Aoi walked down the darkened and empty streets, having just eaten, as I followed from a fair distance. It was then that we both realized that he was not alone; a third party was following. I hesitated, wanting to step forward and protect my Aoi, but I knew my presence would irritate my partner. So, I waited.

As did Aoi, who suddenly stilled, gazing about the street. “Who is there?” He asked, smelling the air. It was neither a familiar smell, nor was it human.

“Where is your master?” The creature asked in return, approaching from the darkness. “I have seen you, always alone, but I know you are very young, and how can one so young be without a master?”

“I don’t know what you speak of.” Aoi said, aggravated. “Who are you?”

The creature smiled, now making himself visible in the moonlight. He was handsome, his eyes dark, but his hair and skin very pale. His blonde hair was tied back with silk ribbon, his dark cloak concealing most of his fineries, although, I could see them quite clearly; the gold buttons of his sleeves and shirt, the silver embroidery of his vest, as well as his leather gloves. He approached Aoi, reaching a hand out. “Very young indeed.”

Aoi pushed his hand aside in a little fit.

The creature laughed, amused. “You are very adorable.” Aoi flinched at the familiar term. “Now, tell me, where is the one who made you? Is he close by?” He looked over in my general direction, not seeing me, but sensing my presence. I snarled quietly, which made the creature laugh to himself.

“I have left him.” Aoi said. “I have no intention of living with monsters...” He eyed the other man. “You are like him, aren’t you?”

He smiled. “Him? You mean, am I a vampire? Yes, I am.”

“Then I want nothing to do with you.” Aoi frowned, turning to leave.

The other vampire was, in an instant, standing before Aoi. “But you don't even know me, I assure you, I am no monster, Aoi.” He smiled.

Aoi tried not to show his surprise, putting on an angry expression. “How do you know my name? What do you want from me? Who are you!?”

The other vampire took his hand, bending down to kiss it. “I admit it, I have been watching you. I only did so because you intrigue me.” He lifted his head, still smiling. “My name is Reita, and I fell for you the moment I saw you, Aoi.”


End file.
